Let Freedom Ring
by kkbeatlesfan
Summary: After Stephen Colbert has the Flag Day party of a lifetime, he decides to have another. Two weeks later, on the Fourth of July. Oneshot.


**Title: **Let Freedom Ring

**Author: **kkbeatlesfan

**Characters: **"Stephen," Jon, John Oliver, Paul Dinello, Steve Carell, and a cameo from Anderson Cooper.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warnings: **Some language. Pure randomness. "Stephen" poking fun at the British. That's about it.

**Disclaimer: **All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**Author's Note: So, I wrote another patriotic holiday fic, sort of as a sequel to **_**Flag Day. **_**I hope you enjoy this, because it's pretty random, but I loved writing it. Plus, I would like to dedicate this to my only reviewer of **_**Flag Day, **_**Midori12, because they gave me the idea to continue it into the Fourth of July. Have fun reading! **

Stephen T. Colbert's veins were beginning to run hot with adrenaline as he restlessly tossed and turned in the bed beside his wife, Evie. It was no time for the burst of energy either, considering the digital clock on the nightstand read "3:32" in bright blue numbers, but he was clearly excited for what was to come on July 4th, also known as Independence Day, which was only a day away. It was a day to celebrate the courage of America's forefathers who had decided that Americans were to have no participation in tea-drinking and soccer matches, but instead hold beer-chugging contests and football games. It couldn't be any more thrilling for Stephen, but his incessant tossing and turning was beginning to annoy Evie, who was still trying to get some shut-eye after a long day.

"Stephen, could you please calm down a little bit? I know you're excited for the Fourth coming up and the party, but I need the sleep," she yawned tiredly. She was of course referring to the Fifth Annual Colbert Fourth of July Jubilee, the most exciting party celebrating America's greatness since, well, Stephen's other party just a couple weeks earlier to observe Flag Day.

"I'm sorry, Evie, I didn't mean to wake you… I'll go downstairs for awhile," he sighed as he left the bed before noticing that she had already drifted off to sleep again.

Stephen wandered into the darkened kitchen and opened the refrigerator to find the gallon of milk. He flicked on the light and poured himself a glass, hoping that somehow the bovine antibiotics and growth hormones would find their way into his bloodstream, numbing his nerve synapses until a more reasonable hour.

After chugging down the ice cold glass of calf sustenance, he pulled a note off the fridge door that contained a list of people (only one person, actually) who had failed to call to say if they were coming to the party or not. That person was Paul Dinello, as usual, and Stephen made a mental note to give him a call later in the morning at a more reasonable hour. He then glanced over to see another yellow note sticking to the fridge door that read: "Iron Rev. War. Uniforms" in Stephen's slanted handwriting. It had simply slipped his mind to take out his party outfit, a Revolutionary War costume! Every year he wore the American blue coat on the Fourth of July, while he made Jon dress up as a British soldier in the red one. The costume _did _fit Jon just right after all, and he could sure pull off the look in those white tights!

Stephen then recalled when he had created the memo, about a week before after a short telephone conversation with Jon.

"So… I have to be the Redcoats again?" Jon protested lightheartedly, "You can't find anyone else to spray shamefully with water pistols for an entire evening?"

"No, Jon, it _has_ to be you… no one else could look so damn good in those tights!" Stephen joked.

"Well, what about John Oliver? He was at your Flag Day Fuckfest, or whatever it was called, and he's actually British!"

"Flag Day _Function, _Jon, _Function. _And besides, I'm not too sure about Oliver."

"What do you mean, 'not sure about him?' He's not going to take over the country if you invite him to a Fourth of July gathering…"

"Fine, I'll give him a call. But if this goes bad, it's your fault."

Stephen laughed quietly to himself as he remembered the phone call to John Oliver he had made a little while later:

"Hey, John, it's me… Stephen. I was just calling to ask if you'd like to come to my Fourth of July party, since you had such a good time on Flag Day," he began nervously.

"Oh, thanks for inviting me! I'd be happy to go," he replied, not yet knowing the full circumstances of being the only British guy that was going to be there.

"Great, but could you do me a favor?"

"Yeah, sure, what is it?"

"Could you be one of the Redcoats in our little Revolutionary War reenactment?"

Stephen heard nothing but silence on the other end of the line, but then a long sigh.

"Yeah… okay."

Stephen had cornered him now! Finally, a real Brit to torment on Independence Day, not just a short Jewish man who happened to fit in the costume! The plan was genius, and Stephen couldn't wait for it all to come together.

After a while, Stephen had gone back to bed and had slept until the alarm clock rang around seven. He drowsily rubbed his eyes as he sat up in bed to find that Evie was no longer there beside him. He quickly got dressed and headed downstairs, to find his wife busily cooking breakfast for their three children.

"Good morning," Stephen greeted his family.

"Morning," they all replied in unison, seeming quite tired still.

"Hey, Evie, do you know where my costumes for the party are?"

"I'm not sure, but I think they're in the hall closet."

Without another word, Stephen wandered down the hallway and carefully opened the door to the jam-packed hall closet to find that the weight of the falling items was pushing the door open even further. Out fell a collection of kids toys that he was sure his children hadn't used in years, bed sheets, pillowcases, and extra curtains. A large, yellow toy dump truck crash-landed on his big toe on his left foot, which was only protected by a thin cotton sock, and he yelped loudly in pain.

"What's wrong?" Evie asked as she ran in from the kitchen.

"I… this _thing _fell on my foot!" he replied through gritted teeth, throwing the toy off to the side.

He quickly examined his throbbing toe: there wasn't any blood, yet, so he continued on with his search. He pushed away extra towels and linens on the shelves to find both costumes crumpled together in a black garbage bag in the back of the closet.

"I found them…" he called out, "But what were they doing in this garbage bag filled with old cassette tapes?"

Evie face-palmed. She recalled the day when she had put together a bag of useless old garbage to go out to the curb, and she had filled the bag with his lovely costumes and worn cassette tapes, hoping he wouldn't notice. But it had slipped her mind to throw it out, so somehow it got stuffed in the back of the closet.

"I have no idea how they got in there!" she lied, trying to act surprised.

"Wha… what the hell? My Rolling Stones cassette is in here, too! I haven't played this in years!"

"You don't even have a player for those anymore!" Evie protested.

Stephen reached into the bag and pulled out the horribly wrinkled suits, all the while hoping that he could find that pesky Cheap Trick tape that he had lost years ago. He brought the suits to Evie, who took a deep sigh when she saw their condition.

"Those are really wrinkled," she commented, "do you want me to iron them?"

"If you have the time…"

"Put 'em on the chair."

He obeyed, then walked back into his office to grab his cell phone to send the repeat RSVP rule offender a text message.

"_Paul, I was wondering if you were free to come to my Fourth of July party… I haven't heard from you yet." _he typed into his iPhone. After he sent it, he rolled out a drawer of his desk to find some photographs of the first four Colbert Fourth of July Jubilees. He giggled to himself as he flipped through photos of he and Jon squaring off with super soaker water pistols, then a photo from after he had pushed Jon in the pool, his black Revolutionary War-era hat floating off beside him. Jon sure looked pissed. That was fun.

Stephen's walk down memory lane was interrupted when he heard his phone vibrating beside him on the desk. A reply message from Paul.

"_Damn right I'm free," _he wrote, _"This is America!"_

Stephen laughed to himself as he came up with another message.

"_Okay, great… that's the spirit! I'll see you then!"_

Great. One more guest added to the list. He hoped that everyone would have a great time and come back for a sixth party next year, and he was almost nervous about it. He really didn't have much to worry about. He had purchased plenty of meats and vegetables to put on the grill, some fresh fruit platters, and yet another flag cake. The main attraction would of course be the fireworks, the largest he had ever purchased. In years prior, the pesky burning bans banned all fireworks for the Fourth of July, but Stephen covertly handed his guests sparklers and told them to wave them below the fence line only. But this year was completely different; God had apparently gotten sick of the godless killing machine spokesperson Smokey the Bear and his pathetic "Only you can prevent wildfires" slogan, because it had rained like they were living in the Vietnam jungle for the past week. The yard was going to be a little soggy, but nothing could dampen Stephen's spirits.

Stephen, Evie, and the kids spent the rest of the day putting up the same decorations that they had for Flag Day a few weeks before, considering that the retail store was originally marketing them early for Fourth of July when they bought them anyway. The costumes were ironed, the meat to be barbecued was marinated, and the citronella candles to keep away pesky insects were placed. Stephen was so tired by the end of the evening that he fell asleep quickly, dreaming of the stars and stripes and flaming Roman candles.

Stephen didn't wake up until six the next morning, a new record for him on that day, for his early preparations the day before had tired him out. When he checked the calendar on his phone to see if it was truly July 4th, he jumped out of the bed with joy.

"Wake up, Evie, wake up!" Stephen awoke his wife from her deep slumber, and by the look on her face it seemed like she was anticipating to hear her husband say that the house was burning down.

"What, Stephen, what?" she gasped, only moments before realizing that the pleased expression on Stephen's face could only mean one thing: the Fourth of July.

"It's here!" he cried, "Quick, get the kids and meet me out in the backyard!"

Without even getting dressed, Stephen ran outside in red, white, and blue striped pajamas and grabbed a box of screaming bottle rockets. He waited there impatiently for nearly five minutes until Evie exited the patio door with a glass of water in hand, the kids following close behind her, wearing their pajamas. They squinted at the early morning rising sun to see their beloved husband and father going to an all new point of obsession.

"Dad… what are you doing?" the youngest, John asked.

"We're going to have a fireworks show!" he said excitedly as he lined up six bottle rockets on the row of cinderblock outlining the patio.

"But it's not even close to being dark outside!" Evie protested. He looked back at his family with a wild grin, and Evie forced a smirk to make him happy. He grabbed a lighter out of the pocket on his shirt and quickly lit the first bottle rocket. It let out an earsplitting shriek so loud that everyone covered their ears as they watched the molten iron shavings sputter out the top of the cardboard can, creating flashes of green, yellow, red and white. It only took a few seconds for the pretty sparkles to fall to the ground and extinguish themselves and the can to stop shrieking.

"Huh? How was that?" Stephen asked, nodding vigorously.

"What?" his second oldest, Peter, began to ask, removing his hands from his ears.

Without speaking again, Stephen lit the next one, and Peter took it as a cue to clasp his hands over his ears or risk going deaf again. It was the exact same as the first, and so were the next two. Just before the fifth one, an angry neighbor had had enough.

"Alright, will you assholes cut it out already? It's six A.M., and I'm trying to sleep!"

"Shut up you un-American prick!" Stephen hollered back, making Evie glad that the children had covered their ears.

"That's it, you asshole, don't make me come over there!"

Without retorting, Stephen ushered the wife and kids back into the house and locked the door behind them and drew all the curtains.

"What was that? Can you start _another_ fight with our neighbors?" Evie asked, still horrified.

"Oh, he won't know it was us, will he?" Stephen questioned, locking all the windows and doors and drawing every curtain as the kids made their way back to their own bedrooms to go back to sleep.

"You called him an _un-American prick! _I don't know if he'll forgive you for that one… damn it, Stephen, he was the only neighbor that we still got along with!"

"Yeah, because he's the only neighbor that we never talk to."

"Well, maybe we could have been nicer… he isn't home much, anyway."

"Oh, he's just pissed because he's not invited to the party… he'll get over it."

"Look, I just hope he doesn't send some fireworks of his own over the fence during your party," Evie explained as she popped some waffles into the toaster.

"If that _bastard_ thinks he can sabotage my fun, he's damn wrong!"

Stephen stormed off down the hallway in search of his party costume. Sure, it was still early in the morning, but later on in the day he would have no time to do a quick wardrobe change before his guests would be arriving. He grabbed the hanger out of the closet and dressed in one of the most ill-fitting reenactment costumes in the history of historical war dramas. He had purchased it at some gift shop in Concord, Massachusetts when he was over there when he himself had seen a Revolutionary War role-play. He stepped out into the kitchen a while later, donning the navy blue knickers over the pearl white tights, matched with the navy jacket with gold-colored clasps. He polished off the look with his black triangle-shaped hat and did a quick pose in front of his wife.

"How does it look?" he asked, sticking forward a black-shoed foot.

"Oh… it looks… great, honey," she lied. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Oh, I can't eat now… I've got to get ready."

About fifteen minutes before noon, the handsome Mr. Stewart arrived, accompanied by his family. Stephen greeted them excitedly at the door, as he nearly picked young Maggie Stewart off her feet.

"Hey, guys! How are you?" he asked.

"Great, Stephen," Tracey replied, seeming a little frightened by Stephen's appearance.

"That's good. You guys can come back to the patio with me, and there's food, drinks, everything back there!"

Tracey and the kids headed out to the back yard while Jon stayed behind to chat with his good friend.

"Once again, great costume," he commented with a grin. "But did you get John Oliver to be the British soldier?"

"Yeah, I called him up, and he said he'd do it. The only thing is if he'll fit in the costume! He's taller than you are."

"Yeah, I think the knickers might be hot pants on him… but oh well. It's _totally _Revolutionary War style," he joked.

Stephen and Jon's only British chum arrived about fifteen minutes later, looking happy just to be invited. He hadn't really talked to Stephen much, but he was thrilled to be invited to his big party of the year.

"John! You're here!" Stephen greeted cheerfully at the door. "Your costume is in the bathroom, if you want to go change."

"Yeah, but I…" he began.

"Food's in the back… come out when you're ready," Stephen interrupted as he walked away.

John admitted his defeat, just as the British soldiers had done 236 years before. He had already waved his white flag, and the reenactment hadn't even started yet. He entered the bathroom to find the crimson-shaded outfit with the ruffled white shirt underneath, paired with black loafers on the floor and a triangle hat positioned on the doorknob. John stood back and admired it for a moment, soon realizing that the red knickers would probably be more like shorts on him, and the white tights looked like they could only reach down to his calves, if he was to cut out the feet. He finally picked up one of the black loafers and looked for a size tag.

"Size nine? Bloody hell, I can't fit in these!" he said to himself. He decided to put on as much of the costume as possible, so he started with the white shirt and jacket. They seemed to fit pretty well, but they were kind of short, considering that they were made for Jon. Next, he tried on the tights. With the feet in them, he was only able to stretch them up to mid-thigh, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. He found a pair of scissors and cut out the feet, enabling him to pull the pearly white tights up all the way, but nonetheless turning them into girly leggings. It looked even more pathetic when he threw on the "knickers" over them, now looking like a teenage girl fashion disaster. He finally finished off the outfit by throwing the hat haphazardly on his head before heading out to the backyard. He felt a pang of self-consciousness when he saw a growing crowd of guests out there, and he immediately searched out Stephen in his custom-made blue outfit. He found him, and he quickly made his way through giggling party guests as he tried to hide himself.

"Stephen! This costume was too short!" he said to the now giggling party host as John tried to pull down the tights to cover his ankles.

"It looks _fine!" _he laughed as he poured John a glass of cold lemonade. He handed it to him, and John readily accepted considering he was on the verge of heat stroke already in the 90 degree July heat.

"It's so hot out here," John gasped between sips.

"You'll cool off when the reenactment starts," Stephen smirked before walking away to find the newest arrival to his party, Steve Carell. Steve was dressed in a casual shorts and t-shirt, like most people at the party, and he was shocked that Stephen had forced another friend to dress up in the Revolutionary War monkey suit.

"Why isn't Jon playing the redcoat this year?" Steve asked, taking a sip from the lemonade.

"Oh, I decided to give him a break, because John Oliver's actually British," Stephen explained.

"So… you're going to have that poor guy dress up in clothes that are too tight for him and possibly give him heat stroke?"

"Don't worry… he'll cool off once the water pistol fights start."

Stephen waited for all his planned guests to arrive before pulling out the large box of super-soakers and water pistols to hand out to all his friends. He claimed the largest for himself, one that had a tank on it the size of his arm, because he wanted to soak that British bastard. He had filled a round garbage can with water from the hose, because he just wouldn't collect the rain water from the week of pouring rainfall to maybe conserve a little water. That environmentalist shit was just an agenda to turn him into a Liberal Democrat, he believed.

He filled all the guns to their capacities and started handing them out first at the kids table, waiting patiently as each child of his friends made their decision before going back to their conversation about ponies. The adults got the next pick, and since most of the children had picked the enormous machine guns of the water pistol world, there were only small guns left. Jon picked a small blue one and pulled the trigger, sending a spurt of water that reached only six inches in front of him.

"Oh, is this the close-range weapon?" he jokingly asked Stephen.

The one that he handed to John Oliver was even worse. Its range of fire was only two inches, and it had about two tablespoons of water in it.

"What is this? It doesn't even shoot!" he complained.

"That's the whole point! The British used weak weapons, and the Americans beat them!"

Stephen walked away and ordered everyone to line up for battle against the patio as he stood in front of them with his gun. John stood all alone, just waiting for what was to come next. Stephen nodded for Evie to blow the blow horn, and everyone took off to surround John.

"Get him! Get him!" Stephen chanted as he unleashed his weapon to hit John right in the face. The children at the party walked a little closer and soaked John's red knickers, for it to look like he had peed his pants in fear.

"We got you! We got you!" young Maggie Stewart chanted.

Stephen got John in the face again, knocking his glasses sideways off his face.

"Charge!" Stephen screamed, pumping his fist in the air. Everyone took off and blasted John, soaking through his outfit.

"Please, ahhh!" he screamed as he tried to place his glasses back on straight.

Stephen's water pistol finally stopped soaking him, so he threw it on the ground in anger to finish off the battle. He got a little more excited than he had in previous years with Jon, so he grabbed the flag pole hanging from the patio and ran over to John, chasing him near the swimming pool.

"Die, you Commie bastard!" he spat as he hit John with the flag pole in the ribs. John crashed into the pool as some of the guests stood back and watched in horror, while the children all giggled in delight. John swam up to the surface quickly, and waved his hands in defeat.

"Okay, okay, you get your independence," he breathed, still spitting out water.

"Hell yeah! That's what I'm talking about!" Stephen screamed as he stabbed the base of the flag pole into the soggy earth. "Lets eat!"

Anderson Cooper was sitting outside on the patio, capturing some sun when he heard the screams from over the fence. Colbert and his stupid party had interrupted his sleep, and now he was raiding his quiet afternoon with all the horrific yelling. Anderson was supposed to be relaxing on his day off, sipping a cold glass of lemonade while lounging on a lawn chair reading the newspaper outside, but he couldn't stand the noise pollution anymore. He thought about shouting mindless obscenities over the white wooden fence again, but he decided it was no use. He ran his fingers through his silvery hair and got up to go inside when he heard something strange.

"DIE, YOU COMMIE BASTARD!" a voice he immediately recognized as Stephen Colbert's hollered out. After that, there was a loud splash, then a scream. It was certainly odd, but it wasn't the strangest noise Anderson's neighbors had ever made. He shrugged it off and headed in the house to grab some lunch, telling himself that he'll be more concerned when he smells the scent of death coming from the yard in a few days. It would make a good story for his daytime television program. Right now, he was starving, and he searched the fridge for something to eat alone on the beautiful July day.

The barbecued meal at the Colbert residence was quite delicious, and now everyone was settled into lawn chairs strewn around the yard, chatting while they devoured pieces of grilled meats and vegetables. Stephen, Jon, and Steve sat together on the outskirts of the party, watching John Oliver sulk all alone on the opposite end of the lawn, still soaked.

"Are you going to apologize to John? You never threw me in the pool like that," Jon suggested.

"Apologize? No! It was all in good fun, Jon. He's probably just upset because I don't have any of that stupid British tea out here," Stephen retorted.

Steve laughed at Stephen's absurdity. "That _was _pretty brutal. You hit him pretty hard with the flag pole."

Stephen just turned his glance over to the food table. He decided to change the subject. "Does anyone want cake?"

Jon and Steve shook their heads silently. Paul Dinello sauntered over with a beer in his hand, and he pulled up a stool next to the rest of the guys.

"What do you think of the party so far?" Stephen asked him, smiling hopefully.

"Oh, it's… great," he said before sipping his beer. "The reenactment was pretty intense."

"I _know… _it was great, wasn't it?" Stephen beamed.

Paul didn't answer. Instead, he picked at the sticky label plastered on the glass bottle as his glance caught John's from across the yard.

"I think I'm going to go talk to John. He seems a little down."

With that, he stood up and walked through a small crowd of his fellow friends and acquaintances, like Amy Sedaris, Ed Helms, and Samantha Bee, as Stephen called out loudly behind him: "Of course he's down! He just lost the Revolutionary War!"

Paul whirled around and hushed him as he sat in the unoccupied seat next to John Oliver. He was still wearing the stupid costume, which was only beginning to dry out now under the sweltering sun.

"Are you okay?" Paul asked the sulking man.

"Yeah, I'm fine. This costume is hot," he grumbled with his thick British accent.

"Oh yeah, it's _so _attractive," Paul joked. John laughed slightly as he picked the black hat off his head and swept his fingers through his dark, damp hair.

"Did you get anything to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry."

Paul nodded silently before proposing another question.

"What do you think of the party? I know Stephen gets riled up…"

Just then, Stephen grabbed the blow horn and gave it two solid toots.

"Okay, now that everyone is done eating, we're going to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, then sing the Star-Spangled Banner. And, for everyone's convenience, I printed out the lyrics, because it was a little embarrassing at my Flag Day party when no one knew the words. Okay, here we go."

He handed out stacks of printed lyrics to every guest, including the children, who found the paper more interesting when they folded it into a paper airplane or an origami bird. Stephen had printed out a special sheet for the lonely British guest, complete with not only the words to the Star-Spangled Banner, but the entire Pledge of Allegiance. John looked at the paper, puzzled, as he looked over to find the Pledge missing from Paul's sheet. And Jon's. And Steve's.

"Stephen, I actually know the Pledge of Allegiance," John stated as nicely as possible to the party host.

"Oh, do you? I'm sorry, I was just making sure."

"I'm a U.S. citizen now, so yeah, I know it."

Stephen just smiled simply as he passed out the last few papers and tossed a few extras on the grass. He stood in front of his recently-erected flag pole with the relatively-new flag and held his right hand over his heart, the golden buttons on his jacket reflecting light from the sun. Everyone followed, except for the children, who were still engrossed in origami techniques. When they all finished with both the pledge and the song, young Nathan Stewart, Jon's son, threw his paper airplane through the air and it landed on the grass beside his father's foot. Jon smiled and praised the airplane's hang time with a thumbs-up to his son.

"Okay, let's play some games!" Stephen screamed.

For the rest of the evening, the party guests enjoyed a full array of party games, including a bean-bag toss through a cardboard Uncle Sam's mouth, a three-legged race (which Paul and Amy won), and a kid-friendly game of Lemonade Pong. By the time all the games were finished, the sun was beginning to sink on the horizon and the fireworks show was set to begin. Evie had taken their son, John, to the grocery store with her to grab some ice cream she had forgotten to buy to serve with the cake. Stephen enlisted the help of Jon and Steve to help him light the wide variety of firecrackers out on the cinderblock surface to create one hell of a lightshow. Armed with butane lighters in one hand and beers in the other, the guys lit bottle rockets, Roman candles, and other fireworks that created shards of colorful sparks and ear-splitting noises.

The crowd of guests ooed and ahhhed at the colors, until one of the firecrackers backfired. Stephen was the one to light it, and it went in the opposite direction, sending it straight for John Oliver and the plastic lawn chair he was sitting in. It was a dramatic and beautiful sight until everyone realized what was going to happen, and John jumped out of the way just in time before most of the red, white, and blue sparks engulfed the chair, melting the seat almost instantly. Some of the sparks did hit John though, and landed on the back of his red jacket.

"Oh my God, John! You're on fire!" Samantha Bee screamed at her coworker. It was true: a small inferno was slowly stretching down the back of the wool jacket.

John quickly got up from the ground, and he rolled on the damp grass to smother the flames. Stephen had other plans, though. He felt a rush of adrenaline after causing the fire, so he ran over to John, threw the melted plastic lawn chair into the swimming pool, then grabbed John by the back of his jacket before he had time to react.

"Stephen! What are you doing?" John cried out in fear as the other guests worriedly looked on. Without answering, Stephen picked up John by his jacket and threw him into the pool in hopes of putting out any burning cinders. John's costume was once again soaked, but he was grateful that the flames were out. Stephen then grabbed his hand and yanked him back out of the pool, examining the back of his outfit, which had singed down to the white dress shirt.

"Are you okay?" he asked, highly concerned.

"Yes… I'm okay now. That was frightening," he blurted out, still trying to catch his breath.

"I called 911 already!" Amy reported from the back, "You should get checked out anyway!"

John's back had some mild burns, but it wasn't anything more than like a bad sunburn. Stephen was grateful that he had put out the flames in time before it was more serious. Jon and Stephen ushered John over to a reclined lawn chair, where they ordered him to lay on his stomach until the paramedics arrived.

A few minutes later, they heard the wails of the sirens in the front yard. Steve ran out to greet them and showed them into the backyard where John was resting comfortably, trying not to move, by Stephen's orders.

"He didn't get burned too bad," Steve reported to an EMT.

"Okay, we'll take it from here," a nurse said as they looked over his wounds.

Everyone backed away to give the professionals some space, but no one was as shocked as Evie when she pulled into the driveway to find an ambulance parked out front.

_Oh my God… what happened? _she thought as she immediately jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, her son following her lugging a bucket of vanilla ice cream.

"What happened?" she cried immediately when she saw her husband.

"We had a little… fireworks accident, and John got hit, but it's not serious." Stephen decided he didn't want to scare his ten-year-old son, so he toned down the seriousness a bit.

"Hey, little buddy! What did you get? Ice cream?" he asked the child, who was looking upset.

"Stephen! Is this really the time for ice cream? Someone got burned!"

Stephen's attention snapped back to John. The paramedics helped him back to his feet and were now walking him back to the ambulance for further treatment. Stephen decided to cut the cake, to break everyone's silence. He put cake on the plates while Evie scooped ice cream as they awaited John's return to the party. After everyone had been served, Stephen put an extra piece of cake on a plate and walked down to the ambulance to offer a peace (piece of cake, actually) offering to his new British friend. When he got there, the front yard was swarming with cameramen around the ambulance, with his annoying neighbor, Anderson Cooper, at the helm, dressed in a dapper suit holding a microphone.

"Mr. Oliver, can we ask a few questions?" Anderson asked as he strained to reach into the ambulance doors. An EMT slammed the doors shut, and Anderson walked away.

"Nice try, Cooper," Stephen spat through gritted teeth as he pushed past him.

Stephen knocked on the ambulance door and John must have told them to open it, because a strong hand grabbed him and pulled him into the vehicle. Cameras flashed behind him from TMZ and various other news sources as he sat down on the bench seat beside John, who was now buttoning up his shirt.

"John, I'm so sorry," he pleaded as he offered the piece of cake, "Do you want cake?"

John nodded slightly and took the plate.

"Thank you. It's not your fault, but I think your neighbor is going to have the media on your ass."

"Yeah…" Stephen sighed, "It wouldn't be the first time, and it probably won't be the last."

John and Stephen talked quietly as they finished their cake. The EMTs had went into the back yard to grab some food, too. Stephen opened the doors and helped John get out, only to be met with the flashbulbs of the cameras and microphones waved in his face.

"Can I have a question, Mr. Colbert?"

Stephen turned around to find Anderson standing there, microphone poised in hand.

"What?" he sighed.

"We have an eyewitness account that says you could be heard screaming, 'Die, you…' okay, parents, if you have kids in the room, you've been warned, 'Commie bastard, you un-American prick,' is that true?"

"No comment," he answered simply.

"Why won't you answer the question?"

"No comment," he said again, growing irritated.

"You're not going to answer?"

Stephen whirled around to face him again: "Look, if I comment, you and your news network will watch me fry on the six o'clock news… that's why I refuse to answer. And, if you must know, I was wrong about my new British friend, John Oliver. He's really a good guy, and I didn't mean any harm. It was an accident, simple as that."

Stephen and John turned around and headed toward the back yard again before Anderson asked another question.

"Can I come to your party?" he asked shyly, not expecting an answer.

Stephen breathed a long sigh. "Sure."

Anderson and his cameramen followed along in the festivities for the rest of the night, along with the ambulance drivers and all of Stephen's friends. He had to admit, he was having a great time, and he met some really cool new people. It was so much better than moping around his house, celebrating the holiday all alone, and he had struck up a friendship with his patriotic neighbor. The party was quite a success, in Stephen's eyes. Sure, they had an injury, but nobody died, and everyone was back to enjoying themselves as they danced around the yard. The kids had long tired out and had fallen asleep at the kiddie table, surrounded with paper airplanes and swans, as their parents woke them to head home.

Around midnight Anderson declared that he would be turning in for the night, and as he walked back out to the street, Stephen's deep, tired voice caught him.

"Cooper?"

"Yeah?"

"You're alright."

"Thanks."

And, with that, the war against un-Americanism was completely over. Stephen thought it was the best Fourth of July party ever… or, at least, since the very first in 1776, of course. That one must have been fantastic.

**Author's Note: Whew! That was quite the lengthy story! It was quite the random journey, was it not? Anyway, I had a lot of fun to write it, even though it took a while, and maybe I'll do another holiday fic in the future? What about Columbus Day? Haha! Anyway, stay tuned! :D -kkbeatlesfan**


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